"Down, _Amakosi_," whispered Kumbelwa again. "Down."
The whole assembly had fallen flat, but our two friends drew the line at
that. However, they compromised by dropping into a kind of squatting
attitude, and at once the King's gaze rested upon them.
It was a sufficiently terror-striking glance. They saw before them a
magnificent specimen of a savage, very tall and broad, and of a rich red
copper colour. He was clad in a _mutya_ of leopard skin, and wore a
short cloak of the same, dangling from one shoulder. His head was
shaven, but it and the large thick ring were partly concealed by a
towering head-dress of black ostrich plumes, a continuation of which
fell on either side so as to cover his shoulders. But the face would
have commanded attention anywhere, such an impression did it convey of
relentless ferocity, of absolute pitilessness, and, at the same time, of
indomitable courage. Yet it was the countenance of quite a young man.
For some time the King's eyes rested on the two white men with a fierce
and penetrating stare. Then, pointing at them with the broad-bladed
assegai in his hand, he said:
"Who are these?"
A confused murmur arose among the crowd, a sort of deprecatory wail.
Then the chiefs of the impi crawled to the King's feet and began to make
their report, a mere matter of ceremony, for of course swift runners had
already been sent on ahead to tell what had happened. He listened in
silence, gazing down upon them with a haughty stare.
"It is well," he said at last. "Bring these people now before me."
He strode forth, proceeding along the edge of the prostrate crowd.
Three or four old indunas were with him, keeping just a pace in the
rear. When he had passed, the whole impi sprang to its feet--and broke
into shouts of praise:
"Fire-maker!"
"Mighty tree that crackleth into sparks!"
"Burner up of the sun at noon!"
"Thou, whose glance scorches up men!"
"Heat of two suns!"
"Scorcher up of the world!"
These and other extravagant attributes were thundered forth from the
excited and adoring multitude, and Haviland, who understood a little
about that sort of thing, was quick to observe that these attributes
mostly referred to fire. A few others were uttered, such as "Swallower
up of Rumaliza!" "Thou who makest dust of Mushad!" and so forth, but
the _sibonga_ was always brought back again to the attribute of fire.
It interested him, and he made up his mind to ask Kumbelwa about it by
and by.
But now the King had reached his chair of state and was seated thereon.
It was a genuine throne, of very old and quaint workmanship, beautifully
carved, with couchant lions on the arms, and guarding the steps, and had
probably been obtained from some slaver who traded in the north. This
chair was placed on a kind of raised verandah with a wide grass roof,
and was well sheltered from the sun. The indunas squatted on the floor
of the verandah on either side of the throne.
"Come forward, ye white men," said the King, and they noticed that his
voice was extraordinarily full and deep.
Our two friends advanced to the throne, and as they did so it was not
reassuring to notice ten or a dozen men standing rather conspicuously at
hand, armed with wicked-looking scimitars, also thongs and raw-hide
whips--all most uncomfortably suggestive of their grim vocation.
"You who speak with our tongue," said the King, pointing at Haviland,
"how know you it?"
"In the land of Cetywayo, Great Great One."
"Now thou liest, for Cetywayo is there no more. Your people have upset
his throne long since."
Haviland wondered how on earth that news should have travelled to this
remote, hardly heard-of tribe, but he answered:
"That is true, Ndabezita [A term of honour addressed to royalty]. But
his people still exist."
"Ha! How came ye here, ye two?"
Then, beginning, Haviland narrated all that had befallen them up to
their battle with and capture by Mushad. The King and all within
earshot listened attentively.
"Somala? Where is he?" said the King.
The Arab was pushed forward and stood before the throne. A fell and
menacing scowl overclouded the royal countenance.
"Another of these dogs of Rumaliza's," said the King. "Take him, ye
Black Ones."
The executioners sprang forward to seize the Arab. But, before they
could reach him, Haviland had stepped between.
"Spare him, Burner of the Sun," he said. "He is not of Rumaliza's
tribe. He is no enemy to the people of Inswani."
A great groan went up from the assembly. Men held their breath. Had
such a thing ever before been known, that a man should stand before
another that the King had doomed to die? As for the despot himself, he
had risen from his seat. His towering form seemed to dilate, and the
scowl on his enraged countenance was terrible to behold.
"Thou hast thy head in the lion's mouth," he said, "and dost still dare
to tickle the lion's jaws. Are all white men mad?"
"He is my tried and faithful servant, Ndabezita," pleaded Haviland. "He
is not the enemy of this people--indeed, very much the reverse, for who
delivered him--delivered all of us--out of the hand of Mushad?"
"Ha! Mushad!" exclaimed the King, whom an idea seemed to strike--
perhaps also a little impressed by the absolute fearlessness evinced by
Haviland, and which decided him to spare Somala for the present. "Bring
forward Mushad and his other dogs."
A ferocious murmur of delight hummed through the whole assembly. The
hated slavers were about to suffer. Many willing hands dragged them
forward into the presence of the King.
His iron frame wasted with exhaustion and ill-treatment, Mushad's spirit
was still unbent.
He met the fierce scowl of the despot with a scowl every whit as savage
and defiant.
"Ho! Mushad!" cried the King, mockingly. "But a short while since thou
didst swear to seize me and make a slave of me. How now? I think thou
didst swear thine oath upside down."
"God is God, and Mohammed is the Prophet of God. He shall turn the foul
unbeliever into worse than a dog. It matters not who is his instrument
in doing so," answered the Arab, defiantly.
"_Whau_!" cried the King. "If Mohammed comes near the land of Inswani
he shall taste what you are about to taste. But you--you have made
slaves of certain of my people. Slaves of the people of Inswani! Hear
you it, my children?"
Even our two friends, tried, intrepid adventurers as they were, could
not help a sense of heart-failing as they heard the terrific roar of
hate and vengeance which was hurled from every throat as these words of
the King fell upon their ears: "Warriors of Inswani, slaves beneath the
lash of this Arab dog!" Well, he was at their mercy at last.
"Let him taste the lash!" they roared.
The King nodded to the executioners. Mushad was seized and the clothing
rent from his back, revealing the weals of former scourgings. But no
cry for mercy escaped him as the cruel whips of raw-hide fell upon his
emaciated form, striping it until the blood spurted. The two white men
felt perfectly sick, but to display signs of any such weakness would be
as impolitic as any display of weakness in the presence of these fierce
and truculent savages. Even the effort made to remind themselves of
Mushad's own barbarities was not sufficient to reconcile them to the
horrid sight. But with every cruel whistling blow, the Inswani roared
with delight.
"Hold!" cried the King at last. "He has had enough. Take him away and
give him plenty of food. He must be made quite strong for what he has
to undergo. We have only begun upon thee as yet, Mushad. And now,
bring forward yon other dogs, and let them taste of what they have dared
to inflict upon my children--the warriors of the Inswani. For them,
too, it is only a foretaste of what is to come."
The other slave-hunters, to the number of nearly three score, were then
dragged forth. There were not enough of the regular lictors, but
willing hands were only too ready to take their place, so intense and
rancorous was the hatred borne towards them, and soon the whole ground
in front of the King was converted into a hideous and writhing
torture-chamber. Yet it was not that the Inswani held these people's
trade in especial abhorrence; far from it, for they took a hand at it
themselves upon occasion. But what they could not pardon was the fact
of the Arab raiders seizing and enslaving their own men, and towards
Mushad and his followers their vengeful hatred was now kindled to white
heat, and they gloated over the anguish of these whose power had
hitherto been able to rival their own.
"Hold!" cried the King at last. "They, too, have had enough. Take
yonder ten," designating those who looked the lowest in standing of the
party, "and impale them on the stockade. The rest will follow in due
time."
A roar of delight greeted these words. The miserable wretches were
seized and dragged off, and presently were writhing each on a hard
stake, pointing outward from the stockade, crowds of the savages dancing
round and taunting them. Indeed, it seemed as though the whole nation
had gone mad in its lust for blood. The expression of even the King's
countenance had grown indescribably cruel and ferocious, and beholding
it, our two friends felt that their peril was hardly less than it had
been when they were in the hands of Mushad.
"Go ye," he said, pointing at them. "Go, lest my mind changes. Let
them be given a house for the present. Hold! Who is this?"
He had for the first time remembered the presence of Kumbelwa, who
sufficiently resembled the Inswani to escape notice.
"_Inkose! Nkulu'nkulu, Inyoka 'mninimandhla_!" began the Zulu,
crouching low, and breaking forth into the _sibonga_ of his race. "The
servant of the Royal House of Inswani is a Zulu of the tribe of
Umtetwa."
"Of Umtetwa!" echoed the King. "That which the House of Senzangakona
swallowed. Thou shouldst be a great fighter," running his eyes
appreciatively over Kumbelwa's fine stature.
"I wielded a spear in the ranks of the Umbonambi, father, when we fought
the English, although now we are friends."
"Good," said the King. "Thou hast the look of a warrior indeed, and
thou shalt wield thy spear in the ranks of my army now. See now,
Kumbelwa. Take charge of these two white men, whose servant thou
wouldst seem to be. I will talk with thee later. Go."
Thus dismissed, Haviland and Oakley breathed more freely. It was a
respite at any rate. Yet with the scenes of horror and vengeance
weighing heavy upon them, their minds were full of foreboding as to what
was to come, as they took up their quarters in the large square hut
assigned to them. And even yet, the stakes with their writhing victims
seemed to haunt them, and in the mind of each was the unspoken thought
that they themselves might be the next.